


Bullets for Ghosts

by Caffinated_Story



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A potential way McCree find out Reyes is Reaper, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffinated_Story/pseuds/Caffinated_Story
Summary: Sometimes the past come back to haunt us.Other times it's ghosts.For Jesse it's appears to be a little bit of both.





	Bullets for Ghosts

His fingers slowly trace the metal skull on his prosthetic arm, running over every line and scratch in it one by one - the ones that were added deliberately and the ones he’s gotten over time.

Jesse flexes his metal fingers and sighs deeply. It needs some fine tuning again, but he doesn’t really have any desire to hand anything in for repairs.

New things don’t suit him.

Clothes aren’t comfortable before they’re worn and washed a hundred times.

He feels uneasy in pressed suits and starch white shirts; too stiff and formal.

He finds it too hard to move in such attire.

Reyes would probably scold him if he knew he’d been avoiding his yearly check-ups.

 

Jesse scoffs at the thought and pours himself another drink.

There’s hardly anyone else in the bar and he’s been keeping low for long enough to let loose for one night.

Or so he convinces himself at least; sometimes his own delusions is the only way to get some rest.

 

The bartender gives him a look of pity, but Jesse ignores it.

After all, there’s another man Jesse thinks needs more pity than himself.

 

At another table there’s a man sitting and nursing the same glass of whisky for longer than Jesse has been in the bar; black hoodie pulled up and over his face.

He barely moves, and when he does it’s slowly and carefully.

 

Jesse doesn’t want to stare, but the guys movements look almost robotic at times, as if it takes great strength to move them in the correct fashion.

 

Jesse sighs and gets up from his own table, bringing his bottle and his glass with him.

 

“Mind if I sit here?” He asks and gestures the the free seat on the other side.

 

The hooded man gives a light shrug, but says nothing.

Jesse takes that as an open invitation and makes himself comfortable.

 

“You too broke to afford a second glass?” He asks and points at the hooded man’s whisky glass that only contain a few drops; the man is clearly trying to make the drink last for hours.

 

“Maybe,” the man shrugs, voice hoarse and pained; as if it’s a great struggle to speak.

Jesse wonders if he’s one of the unlucky ones with a failing voice box and no means to get a new one.   
An unfortunate soul.

 

“Say no more,” Jesse grins and opens the bottle with a satisfying little ‘pop’. “I’ve got enough to share,” he laughs and refills the man’s glass.

 

“Thanks,” the man replies and brings the glass slowly up to his face.

Jesse can only barely make out the man’s chin; some black and grey stubble interrupted by some bad scars that appear to run far up his face.  
From what he can see, Jesse assumes this guy hasn't had a decent meal either for a long, long time.  
It pains him and he wonders how much money he's got on him to give the poor guy.

 

“Rough day?” Jesse asks and digs out another cigar from his pocket.

 

“Rough year,” the man replies and takes a sip of the drink.

 

“Got ya,” Jesse snorts and lights the cigar with a sigh. “Some years are just like that. Never ending flow of bullshit,” he grimaces briefly at the thought.

The whole word could go to hell and half the world wouldn’t even notice.

 

The man nods and traces the rim out the glass with a heavily scarred hand.

Jesse notices but doesn’t let his eyes linger for too long; it’s not polite.

 

“Ugly, isn’t it?” The man comments and flexes his fingers, giving Jesse a moment to study the man’s hands.

His dark skin is marred by too many deep cuts, so many that Jesse doubts any of the skin left isn’t scar tissue.

 

“Seen worse,” Jesse shrugs and takes a drag of his cigar.

 

“Liar,” the man scoffs before attempting to clear his throat. It makes no difference, his voice just as hoarse and guttural as before. “No one’s seen worse than me,”

 

“If ya say so,” Jesse holds his hands up to his chest and offers the man a smile - he has no intention of causing a scene tonight.

 

“I do,” the man replies darkly and goes back to his drink.

 

Silence passes between them and Jesse finds it best not to disturb it, instead opting for emptying his own glass steadily.

 

The man grumbles a little with each sip of the whisky, but doesn’t object to Jesse filling it a second time.

 

“Might cure that voice of yours,” Jesse jokes as he places the now almost empty bottle down.

 

“Wishful thinking,” the man sneers.

 

“Well someone’s gotta be the optimist here,” Jesse scoffs and taps his metal fingers gently against the glass.

 

“Yes… That was your job, wasn’t it? Ever the smiling optimist…”

 

The man’s words makes him momentarily freeze, and Jesse quickly calculates his escape routes.  
There's an emergency exit behind the bar if he goes through the back room, the front door is closer – but with less cover.  
However, some upturned tables will give him enough cover if he should need it.

His mind races, but the hooded man makes no attempt at any hostile movements – it does little to ease Jesse's unease.

 

“How’d you know that?” Jesse asks carefully. “I don’t recall you working with me before…”

 

“Of course not, I’m just a ghost,” the man laughs dryly and for a brief moment Jesse is certain that the man’s hand becomes fog before solidifying again.

 

“I never really liked ghosts, too hard to kill 'em,” Jesse says with a grimace and is thankful for the weight of Peacekeeper against his hip.

 

“Believe me, sometimes ghosts wish they could die,” the man spits and raises his head just enough for Jesse to stare right into his eyes.

“All us ghosts get are the graveyard shifts anyway, short end of the stick no matter what," the man grins wickedly at Jesse, teeth broken and pointed behind scarred lips and skin.

 

Jesse is certain his heart stops.

The man’s eyes are an eerie glowing red and black, but there’s something familiar about them.

Much too familiar.

 

"Reyes?” Jesse whispers in horror, hand moving down to Peacekeeper’s hilt.

 

“No. Just his ghost,” Gabriel grins even more and Jesse feels a horrible chill run down his spine.

It a definitively Reyes. In the flesh. Well; not quite.

 

The man is a ghost of Reyes. There are features that Jesse recognises and is almost happy to see, but there is something twisted about him.

 

This Gabriel isn’t the Gabriel he once knew.

 

The words on his tongue die before he can utter them.

There are too many questions.

Too many unsolved mysteries, but Jesse can’t seek to voice any of them right now.

He is scared to blink in case Reyes disappears if he does so.

 

“How?” Jesse finally manages to utter in disbelief.

 

“Well what can I say; what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Gabriel sneers.

 

The words are familiar, but the tone no longer holds the humour and joy it used to.  
Gone is Reyes' warm and deep voice – replaced with something that has been ripped apart and sewn crudely together.

 

“Fucking hell,” Jesse mutters and tries to focus. “I attended your fucking funeral!”

 

“Kind of you,” Gabriel takes a sip of his drink and pushes his hoodie a little further away, letting a little more light illuminate the marred features of his face.

 

Jesse tries to hide his horror, but the grimace is near impossible to stop.

 

“There we go,” Gabriel laughs and gives him a toothy grin. “Now you can see what a cursed life I live.”

 

“Fuck,” Jesse whispers. “Anyone ever tell you you look like death?”

 

“A few…” Gabriel frowns before smiling once more, white teeth visible from the sides of his face where some of his skin has seemingly melted off.

 

“But how? Why?” Jesse blurts out.

 

“Ask our little Angel of Mercy,” Gabriel frowns and downs the rest of his drink. “She should know,”

 

“What?” Jesse blinks, unable to quite follow the accusations. “Angela?”

“Mhm,” Gabriel nods and finishes his drink, sliding the empty glass over to Jesse. 

“But...” Jesse wants to argue against him, but the bar has gotten even more silent than before – a quick glance reveal that there is no one else but the two of them left.  
Even the bar man has disappeared.

“You're getting sloppy kid,” Gabriel chuckles. “Should have paid more attention...” he taps his fingers against the table and Jesse can't stop staring at the black mist that starts to form around Gabriel's hands, slowly solidifying into gauntlets – black gauntlets with some horribly sharp claws.

“Shit,” Jesse mutters and grabs the edge of the table with both hands, flipping it over before making a quick roll backwards off his chair and underneath another table.

“You should have stayed dead,” he hisses as he kicks the underside off the table, effectively giving himself another barrier between him and Reyes.

“Well you just weren't a very good student... had to come back,” Gabriel laughs menacingly and Jesse tries not to shudder as he spots the black fog float just above the floor.

“If I'm perfectly honest, I never much liked you either,” Jesse spits, a little disgusted with himself about how easily it is to utter that lie.

“Shame,” he hears Gabriel reply – but he can't quite place where his voice is coming from. “You could have been something truly great...”

“Already am,” Jesse grunts and reaches for one of his grenades, pulling the pin silently but holding the release trigger firmly down – counting down the seconds he's got before it's make it or break it for his hand.

“I doubt it,” Gabriel's voice is impossibly close and Jesse turns his head, eyes widening in horror as he's face to face with the white mask of Reaper. “You've got some way to go.”

Jesse swallows his fear and narrows his eyes into a defiant glare.  
“You done?”

“HA!” Reaper replies and wraps a clawed hand around Jesse's neck. “Not at all.”

Jesse let's a small smile slip before trusting the stun grenade underneath Reaper's mask, releasing the grenade trigger and closing his eyes as the resulting blasts throws them both across the room.

His ears ring and his head feels like it just went up against a train – but Jesse grits his teeth and tries to focus.

“Unfortunate,” he hears Reyes whisper – perhaps it's wishful thinking; but his voice seems a little more pained than before.

Jesse grimaces and tries to look for the best escape route – he's not got much chance here against Reaper.  
It was a set up from the start and he should have known it wouldn't be a fair fight.

His vision blurs and darkens for a moment – and he realises a little too late that Reyes' has gathered himself up quicker than he could do to himself.

“Now I'll admit, I didn't see that one coming,” Reaper sneers.

“Always a trick up my sleeve,” Jesse chuckles and tries to smile, even if it pains him to move any muscle.

Reaper moves without a sound, the black mist seeping out from under his long black coat obscuring Jesse's vision.

“Listen up kid,” Reaper hisses and grips Jesse's chest plate, pulling him a little up from the floor.  
Jesse can just about make out the red glow of Reyes eyes behind the white mask, and he's aware of how horribly cold Reyes' feels this close.

“Stay out of my way and I'll let you live,”

Jesse blinks.  
That can't be real.  
It must be a lie.  
Reaper spares no one.  
Hell; no one in Talon does.

“See, now I think you're the one lyin',” Jesse whispers, feeling the claws dig into his neck.

“Perhaps,” Reaper's voice is low, and for a brief moment Jesse thinks he can hear the hint of what was once Reyes' own voice. “But it's all you're getting,”

Jesse has less than a split second to process what's happening when Reaper lets him go, and it doesn't take him long to fling a flash grenade between them and make a run for the exit.

 

He doesn't dare look behind him – instead he focuses on what's sure to be waiting for him outside the bar; Talon soldiers.

“Fuck,” he curses to himself when his assumptions turn out to be true.

However, Talon soldiers aren't much to fear – Jesse has made quick work of them before.

And Reaper – No; Reyes. Gabriel Reyes has given him a head start.

More than he'd ever gotten in Blackwatch training.

“You've gotten soft Reyes,” he mutters to himself before launching himself into a line of unsuspecting Talon soldiers.

 

His ears are still ringing as he makes a break for it before Talon can call for backup and Reaper decides that he's given him enough of a head start.

Jesse curses to himself – he didn't think it was this bad.  
He never thought Talon had Reyes.

This changes everything.

The second he knows he's safe he has a phone call to make.  
Or more accurately; he's got a recall to answer.

The Overwatch and Talon war just got a little more personal.


End file.
